Proprietary Rights
by damnation soldier
Summary: Being brothers, well half brothers, Francis and Sebastian shared many things. Mary, however, was not one of them.


Being brothers, well half brothers, Francis and Sebastian shared many things.

They shared the same bedroom when they were children, the same royal tutors and physicians, the same meals and birthday cakes hailing from the same kitchen, and as an integral part of who they are, the same father, who just so happen to be their King.

Francis and Sebastian never complained about sharing.

They never did, until now.

Because Mary was the one thing that cannot be shared between them.

She had to be claimed.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Bash lingers in the ravine, throwing small pebbles into the stream. He sat perched on a boulder, a sturdy column, the very contradiction of his current physical state. He was wobbly and his head ached terribly from being drunk, the canteen of liquor laid empty as he threw it several minutes ago on the wet grass.

"So this is the place where you kissed her, _huh?"_ Francis approaches him from behind, and the elder royal doesn't bother to turn around.

He smirks coyly, "Actually it's a little bit up north, closer to the rose bushes where you probably saw us in heated passion."

"The nerve. You don't even feel ashamed for betraying me, your own brother," the blond sneers, kicking at the alcohol container, dumping it into the water where the currents carried it aimlessly.

Bash tries to salvage the remnants of his temper at his younger sibling's disrespectful display. He teeters to his feet, his anger of all purpose making him stand steady. _"Yes._ I don't feel any apparent shame because what I've had to live through made that kiss fade _so_ thinly in comparison in the meter."

Francis cocks an eyebrow.

"You're the crown prince who has her hand in marriage and one dimwitted lass ready to hop on bed with you. Actually make that two, I heard rumors you've indulged yourself with a girl from the court mere hours after Mary arrived in our country."

The golden haired prince looked ready to retort, defend himself at least, but he wasn't given the opportunity as his brother continued the verbal assault.

"I on the other hand am a bastard child who'll never sit on the throne of anything, who gets his face handed to him by politicians whenever he shows up in court, the one who has to hone his fighting and riding skills because all father, all everyone in this _godforsaken_ palace thinks I'm good enough for is war."

And that's his past, his present, and his future. An everlasting dose of violence and loneliness running through his veins.

Francis is seething with condemn. "You sure didn't beat yourself up over that talent when it was within Mary's favor."

"You asked me to get to the border-"

"And you complied, so elatedly because why - because it _wasn't_ for France, it was for your big chance which required Mary to stay. You have feelings for her right from the start. I knew it and you went behind my back to charm her, win her over, and take her for yourself. You're out of your mind, we are betrothed to each other since we were six!"

"And what have you shown her to dissuade my advances? _Nothing!"_ Bash raised his voice to match his opponent's in volume.

And that's it. He's not denying it. He wants her, and he's not going to hide from the truth. He knew he was horrible when it came to masking his feelings. When he's attracted to someone, he just goes in from the pull, lets himself helplessly gravitate towards the person.

And the fact if that person happens to be the reigning Queen of Scots, who's also apparently seriously engaged to his brother, the rightful heir to France, he pays no heed.

It's also true, how his emotions had stemmed from the very beginning. At some early point, as he watched her wanting to run about into the woods for her stray pup, as he saw her dance and twirl in her gown at the center of the ballroom, _glowing_ brighter than the sun, he began to feel the oddest of sensations. A warmth in the pit of his stomach, a dizziness in the core of his skull. He didn't want it to fade. He didn't want _her_ to fade.

He's had many things taken away from him. The approving smiles of generals and ambassadors from military tables, hell even that of his own mother. His own mother had practically shunned him the moment he rebelled for pining over some girl who she claimed will make him bleed.

_Everyone in life is going to hurt me, mother, I just have to figure out which people are worth the pain. I know she is._

He didn't care. He could take care of himself. He's a survivor.

He doesn't know though if he could ever really survive having to live the rest of his life, an eternity in the sight of Mary being wed to his brother if he couldn't love her right. Like he's supposed to.

No sidetracking, no cheating, no reluctance because of that bull about duty. He had to come full circle into commitment because she deserved nothing less but the best, the bravest, truest of hearts.

Bash knows he's fallen far too deep into her to get back up. To attempt to erase his growing need of her was as impossible as taking the stars out of the night sky.

Flirting with other beauties won't do. Even bedding them won't.

He wants to do neither of those things to her.

He wants to talk to her, be at her side, and maybe later, when it's right, they may be buried under the same sheets when sunlight breaks through dawn. But not now. He doesn't need that intimacy so urgently.

He just needed her presence as a constant part of his life. To hear her accent in his ear, to have his eyes roam through her exquisite face at all times.

He wished he was the one prompted to tie the knot with her. And Francis knows full well of this too.

"You are a thief, Bash. Stop your foolishness this instant, or you will find more than just yourself at the ravenous thoughts of everyone in French Court. In case you've forgotten, you might be a black sheep in this family, but she still has something to lose. As Queen, as my future bride, her reputation, and her virtue had to remain untarnished. Do not compromise her position for your own selfish gains."

"I'm well aware of her current lack of merits in our situation. I'd never do that to her. Not when her name, her country, her people is at stake."

And that's the cruel thing about life. Someone as beautiful, as kindhearted and innocent as her had to be locked in a desperate predisposition so unfair, so limited. She is promised nothing, she even had to turn to a savant, mad, scheming Portugal prince just one week ago.

A prince, no, almost King that Francis happened to have slain out of spite and jealousy. Something he is now inflicting so mercilessly onto Mary with the appearance of his old flame, the noble girl.

So when he came to her aid, her rescue, with pathetic whims at making her crack a smile and his sweet, _sweet_ rum, he shouldn't be the one to blame. You know why? Because it's Francis' fault for having made her so unhappy and hurt in the first place.

"And _you,_ the complete opposite, do not have the means to care for her well-being as deeply. Do not feign ignorance at the behavior, the crass treatment you've given her. Start acting like she's the woman worth more than the gold and the riches of this universe because she'll become your wife someday, sadly."

"How _dare_ you lecture me in that department? I was attending to an old friend who might've given me an offer I couldn't refuse but I _did._ I crawled over the temptation of having Olivia, a girl I knew and am fond of since a very long time, as my mistress because of the sacred bond I am destined to share with her. A girl whom you've violated in secret."

"And I have no intention of stopping my desires so long as you see that you are fit to act like an intolerable _brat_ who cannot see what you're neglecting," Bash looks him in the eye, green meets green, as their iris' colors were another thing they had in common.

"And what am I neglecting? Certainly not my obligation, because if you're too blind or poisoned to notice, I've _killed_ for her protection once already," Francis boils over. "What more proof do you need to leave her be at her only candidate of a husband?"

He may have brought up a rather memorable ordeal that wasn't pleasant at all, but he's not the only one at wit's end for surely Bash lost most of his patience already when he saw Mary confiding in him, close to tears, feeling like she was nothing more than the dirt men stomped on.

_No man is worth your tears and when you find the man who is, he'll never make you cry._

And those were the words inside his mind left unspoken, because sometimes the only thing that needed to be done was the one that required none.

_I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. _

Like when she broke away after her impulsive instigation, her lips parting mutely and she gasped, mumbling unintelligibly about how she shouldn't have done such a thing, and he just grabbed her by the arm and kissed her again harder than before.

_You're right. I should've._

Bash struck an accusatory finger onto his brother's chest. "So dear brother, I may assume that you have apologized to her, am I correct?"

The unready, unabashedly dodgy look on Francis' face tasted like bitter victory to him.

He stammers. "When Mary sees that she shouldn't manipulate me and control me into providing everything as she pleases, or more importantly once she's come up and over her water of the childish little rebound _nonsense_ with you, then I will apologize."

The declaration is that of an insensitive coward, and it's another testament to why Bash should chase after her instead. He has the right and he has the means.

"You've spoken all that needs to be said," the illegitimate son shook his head prematurely. "And you've given me all the more motivation to earn a place in her heart."

"You wouldn't want to make this a competition, Bash. You know how rivalries end. It divides the best of us," Francis warned.

The brunet snorts rudely. "This isn't even a competition. I've got you blown over the water, Francis."

"What are you talking about?" His eyes widened.

"You've shown your true colors to the both of us, or have you not remember your spawning numbers of infidelity occurrences?" He rounds into the subject like a professor or a pope really, all the while circling the younger man in that of a vulture's manner. "Pride attracts the girl. Courage approaches her. Wisdom gets her. Strength puts up with her. But loyalty keeps her."

Francis grimaces at the onslaught of insults.

"You only have the first one in the bag, in spades really, but it simply won't do," the elder prince makes the offhand comment easily. The nausea had receded for him and so he makes his trek up into the gardens, and into the citadel of his kingdom.

"Where do you think you're going?" Francis yells from the moss crevice, still at the same spot he'd been, a distance below to separate them.

"I'm going to go enjoy supper," he walks off, and didn't crane his head back even though he would've been delighted at the furious expression Francis donned as he said, with full confidence, "And I will also make _your_ Queen mine. Go on now brother, you may proceed gallivanting with your little twit."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

There's no welcome or anything, not that he minded.

Mary was never one to mince words. He liked that about her. But it didn't mean that he hadn't felt like retching on his boots when he was placed at the end of her fiery glare.

"What are you doing here?" Her form barricaded the entrance of her quarters. Though the body language implied hostility, deep down Mary bore anything but. She was just thinking about him, and speak of the devil, there he magically stood waiting at her doorstep, still wearing his signature mahogany leather garbs.

"I need to talk to you," he utters, and disregards the fact that she was already in her nightdress, an indication of how late he'd come to find her in this part of the fortress, belonging to the female cohabitants of the court, which was a bit improper itself.

Fearing a scandal herself, the Scottish maiden yield upon pressing matters. "Alright. Get inside."

He was invited in her room, it was the guest room, the best the palace has to offer and he sits contently on the divan.

He patted the spot next to him, and she cautiously sat herself, almost itching away to the far corner to avoid him, which was inevitable given their close proximity.

He grins roguishly, "I won't bite, you know."

She sighs tiredly, "Bash, we cannot get involved. We mustn't. The law here is ruthless and my treaty will be the cost of my choices, any of my wrongdoings. I cannot jeopardize the fate of my country no matter how tempting it is to find release in someone who appreciates me. I cannot let the security I afforded at the end of my bargain, which had been so difficultly obtained get terminated by King Henry or Queen Catherine. Not again."

_"Mary,"_ he calls her by name softly, he's only done this once before as he recalled, and she stops breathing for about a second.

His calloused hands enveloped her gentler ones in his. "I am not here demanding for an affair. I couldn't take that risk of driving you farther away. What I feel for you may not be _platonic,_ and I know you feel something for me in return, I know you do, but then again it could be just me reading too much between the lines."

"Good," she huffs petulantly, glad he wasn't having any ideas. His interest, it's a careless thing for him to harbor.

But then again he's not the only one who's been thinking, and she understood that the extent of the thoughts she came up with regarding him were very much romantic in nature, she cannot comprehend _why_ _him_ of all people, and she still doesn't know why she wants him so much.

Not as a go-to man whenever she felt dejected. But as a replacement for the first one entirely.

Damn Francis and his judgment. They had something very special, a long friendship, an even seemingly longer bout of infatuation on her part. But it was all for nothing, and he did much further to cement her doubts - choosing his former beau over her for instance above other priorities.

She will not let that go. She will not be measured in a worth lower than of that she saw in herself. She will not let her dignity be brushed off like it meant nothing. She wears the same crown as he does, born as the head of a country.

And maybe that's why she longed for Bash.

He didn't have a King's crown. He was a secondhand prince, a dark horse, untitled elsewhere as a monarch. He is the very embodiment of _just a boy._ She didn't have to pretend to think otherwise.

His lips twitched upwards and he chuckles at her expense, as she had a sour look on her face she didn't bother concealing. "Why do I get the feeling that you're having second thoughts about our recently forged arrangement? Am I _that_ irresistible?"

_It's unfathomable. When Francis has you, why would he ever look elsewhere?_

Mary feels his voice from earlier in the festival's aftermath echo. She delves deeper, into his sincerity and she feels genuinely awestruck by the way he's able to phrase such a simple thing and make it sound so wonderfully comforting, uplifting.

She swore she never met anyone so smooth with words. He makes her look like a silly goose, intoxicated by his bearings that she whisked away from his clutches and gulped down herself in such an uncivilized method. And her rambling started, and his wildcard remark came, and then she just _lost_ it in one moment of weakness, smashing her lips with his own.

"Yes, maybe you are," she replies soundly, honestly and Bash seems satisfied.

"I remind you that your options are open. I'll always wait for you, Mary."

She feels guilty. "Do you _really_ want to create a rift between you and your brother? I'm getting ridiculously sick of repeating this, but I _am_ a girl with a country hanging around my neck." She points out wisely, "Your family, if they are the people who stand by you, you need to treasure them with all you have."

"I'm afraid I don't have much of a family here. Now that I've grown up and seen what whispers goes around these castle walls, I see that each and every member of this household has their own agenda. I don't want to be a pawn of someone else's chess game."

The revelation isn't all that unexpected. Of course even the secrets here disturbed him greatly, and she finds it in her to console him easily, familiar with the resentment.

"Then you don't have to be," she convinces him but reasoned logically then, "But pursuing this relationship with me will only put you in harm's way."

_As if that's never happened before._

His hand comes to cup her cheek, his delicate touch almost like feather. "Mary," and she senses this is the introduction to a meaningful confession and it is.

"Sometimes I wonder if love is truly worth fighting for, but then I remember your face and suddenly I'm ready for war."

_I'm giving you the power to destroy me, Mary. But I trust you not to._

"Francis will have your head," she tries to discourage him, before she too relinquishes control. Because she knew a conflict of hearts cannot be resolved peacefully, it was too much of a bold lie to have faith in.

"I don't care. If he doesn't love you at your worst, then he doesn't deserve you at your best. He's a contender for your affections who is snobby, conceited and arrogant, an indecisive _ass_ who takes you for granted and cannot give you what you rightfully deserve."

"And what do I deserve?" She questions curiously.

He's not boasting, he is just stating the facts.

"Someone who makes you the only exception to everything he's ever come to know. Someone who'll never even dare to think about looking the other way when they're with you. Someone like me."

She is speechless.

And here she thought she was getting over him and actually believing that she didn't need him but then he smiled at her and ruined it all. He dusts himself off, straightening into his full height, towering over her. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

"Bash, wait," she reaches out to him, and she caught him, their fingers were entwined at the last moment and she pleads, "Stay with me."

He throws his weight back onto the cushion once more, glancing at her in intrigue, "Is that all, your majesty?"

And it is there she decided, reckless as it was, he needn't have to vie for her no more. She is his. Only his.

_"No,"_ clinging onto him, she takes him by the neck, and senselessly steals his path of oxygen, searing white-hot burning building up in their lungs.

Bash responds with equal fervor, devouring her.

"Who do you choose, Mary?" He asks in between rapid movements, and he unlatches her from him, wanting to see her clearly in the dim candle's light.

She looks flushed, red tinting her cheeks, her wavy ebony locks plastered to her alabaster skin, and through her thick lashes her eyes said it all. She answers, _"You._ I choose _you."_

With the certainty in her voice, he didn't hesitate, his courage flourishing alongside hers.

And so it began, the most eloquent of silence, that of two mouths meeting in a kiss.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

As for Mary, as of tonight when the darkness came, she was claimed.

* * *

_A/N: My first time writing for this fandom. And god, do I love this show. Period dramas are like my current obsession. Plus 'Reign' has like the best outfits, ever. The shiptease between Bash and Mary is just priceless too. Not that I don't love Francis and Mary together, they really got me all fluffy in the second up to fourth episode, and that emotional kiss at the third, gah! But my fangirling did not render me oblivious to Francis' jerk complex. He really can be obnoxious and unfair to Mary sometimes. Sure he has a complicated family, and his misdeeds might not be baseless but it still cannot go unexcused, or unpunished by us shippers. And that's the reason why my OTP is BashxMary. Mr. Suave would never even come close to dreaming about treating her like crap. What do you call them by the way? The pairing name I mean.. Bary? _

_Okay, nuff' said. _

_Review anyone?_


End file.
